


Reflections

by lachatblanche



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Compliant, Father-Daughter Relationship, Gen, Introspection, X-Men: Dark Phoenix (Movie) Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-12
Updated: 2019-06-12
Packaged: 2020-05-01 18:08:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19183033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lachatblanche/pseuds/lachatblanche
Summary: Charles considers his relationship with Jean Grey.Takes place prior to the events of Dark Phoenix.





	Reflections

Charles wakes up one day with the belated realisation that he has a daughter.

Not a daughter by blood of course - the days for that have long passed, and besides, even when it were possible he had always been scrupulously careful about that sort of thing. No, the daughter he finds he now has is not one of his blood, but rather of his heart and mind - two areas of himself that, he finds with surprise, she has seeped into deeply and irrevocably.

It’s not something that he’s too concerned about, at least initially; he’s always had a knack of acquiring family through means other than genetics. Just look at Raven; she wandered into his house one dark night and now she is every inch his sister, regardless of any blood they may or may not share. Similarly, the children he acquires through his school are just that: _his children_ , as he thinks of them with benevolent paternalism; his to cherish and look after and shape and mould just as a parent would. He loves them and they adore him in return. He is a father to them and a teacher and leader: a man to be loved and obeyed and revered. None of them, however, possess the ability to pierce through the intimidating armour that comes from being Professor Charles Xavier, Headmaster, Leader of the X-Men and Mutant Icon.

None except for one.

Jean.

He hadn’t meant to let it happen, for the bond to form between them. It hadn’t even crossed his mind. He had simply intended to treat her just the same as his other students, with authority and fond but distant benevolence. He couldn’t help it, however, if his telepathy would instinctively reach out to hers every time they passed, or if his heart surged with pride each time she accomplished a new feat with her powers, or if his smile became that shade more tender and genuine when his eyes found hers. 

‘I don’t play favourites,’ he’d said sternly when Raven had called him out on it with a smirk.

She had laughed in his face for that. ‘Oh Charles,’ she said, shaking her head - and was that a hint of sadness creeping in through the mirth? ‘You’ve _always_ played favourites. You just didn’t realise it.’

 _But the rest of us did_ , her mental voice whispers traitorously. There is no bitterness there, surprisingly; only sadness. The words sting all the more for it.

Charles pulls away - but not before hearing the words, a muted whisper of regret and sorrow, buried deep, _I was your favourite, once_. His hands clench, his shoulders going taut with the effort it takes to hold back a wellspring of comfort and reassurance, but he can tell that she did not mean for him to hear it, and so instead he moves away, pretending the words do not haunt him.

For all the gifts that telepathy brings, it has somehow never managed to be anything but a barrier in his relationship with Raven.

Not that he needs it in order to create distance between the two of them. The sad fact is, Charles rarely connects intimately with anyone any more, too caught up in the myth of the untouchable, near mythical figure he has become in recent years. Only Raven and Hank remain his tethers, his anchors to his true self, keeping him from losing himself to the persona he has so carefully and painstakingly built over the decades. Erik doesn’t count - not really, in spite of all that they have been to each other over the years; it’s not as if they _talk_ to each other, after all. Only Hank and Raven know him, _truly_ know him, and in knowing him they give him the freedom to be himself in a way he could never be with others, knowing that they will not turn away from him if he reveals his weaknesses to them: Hank, because he stayed when others wouldn’t and saw Charles at - and through - the lowest point of his life, and Raven because he’s always disappointed her so much in the past that surely anything he does in the future won’t compare? Or, at least, won’t come as much of a surprise?

Charles is flawed, he knows, deep down inside; deeply flawed. He hides it from his students - his acolytes, his children. He is nothing but kindness and warmth and wisdom in front of them - all the things he wishes his own parents had been in front of him - and he hides his fears, his worries (his drinking) far away from them, behind closed doors, away from innocent childish eyes. 

It’s not too hard. They don’t want to see him as fallible, and so they don’t.

Jean, though ... Jean is the exception.

She knows him. She may not know the facts and she may not know the details - he has made sure of that, at least - but she knows _him_ , the way only another telepath could. It is of course not the first time that Charles has worked with another psionic but something about Jean and her power and her own innate sensitivity and perspicacity have proved impossible for Charles to defend against. 

It troubles him, sometimes, that there is someone who can see through him in such a way - someone not Hank or Raven or Erik. Someone who, by all accounts, really ought to look up to him and respect him and have unwavering faith in him—

... And the thing is, she _does_. That’s the thing that Charles can’t understand. She knows he is flawed and imperfect; she knows when he gets angry or frustrated, even when his face gives nothing away; she even knows that he drinks a bit too much, her careful grey eyes following his aborted gaze to the liquor cabinet whenever the weakness takes hold.

And yet she doesn’t hold it against him. 

‘Why should she?’ Hank asks with a frown, when Charles eventually works up the courage to tentatively broach the subject. ‘She’s a telepath just like you are, Charles. You see people’s flaws all the time and you don’t hold it against them. Why should she?’

It makes sense, of course - Hank always comes at things very sensibly. And he’s probably right - Charles has long learnt to forgive people their imperfections, learning to accept them as they are. 

It’s just that he never expected to see the same courtesy extended to him.

Is it pride, he wonders, or the opposite? Probably both - the mind is, after all, a wondrous, complex thing. It’s just that no one else has ever accepted him quite so completely as Jean seems to. His own parents, after all, couldn’t love him even with the powerful instinctive pull of genetic predisposition. Hank, the most accepting of them all, knows very well that Charles is not the glorified icon that he presents to the world - and yet sometimes he seems to forget that; sometimes he, just like the others, seems to fall under the spell of the myth, to _believe_ in Charles with as much innocence and shining belief as his students. Raven knows him all too well, of course, but she has never been very good at accepting him - tolerating him, yes, but it has always been a careful tolerance, as likely to fracture as it is to hold. And as for Erik - well, there is a reason that he and Erik could never stay together, and the distance they have kept from each other over the decades really says it all.

Charles understands that. He’s used to it, to not being accepted. It’s why he fights so very hard for everyone else, so that they don’t have to experience the world the way he was made to. The fact that Jean seems to be the exception to this ... well. He doesn’t quite know what to do with that kind of unwavering, unconditional affection. And yet, now that he has tasted it he finds that he can’t find it in himself to resist it.

After all, if there is one thing that Charles could never defend against, it is love. It had always been his greatest weakness - even above pride. Love has seen him brought low, ruined, even paralysed - and it has also seen him forgive, again and again and again because god knows he would do anything for the people he loves but he would do it twice again for the people who love him back.

They are so very few in number, after all.

But Jean - Jean asks for nothing at all. She is content to just be there, to learn from him, to help him, to _love_ him - and Charles doesn’t know what to do with that. He doesn’t know how to deal with people who know him, love him, and want to _stay_ with him. 

But oh, how he craves it.

His thoughts wander across the mansion, instinctively drawing him to where the subject of his contemplation is walking from class, books in hand. She pauses as she feels Charles’s touch glance across her mind and she tentatively reaches back, surprised pleasure tinting her mind in a delicate pink glow. _Professor?_ she asks curiously. _Is everything alright?_

Charles smiles, despite himself. _Everything is just fine, Jean,_ he says gently. _More than fine. I apologise for the intrusion. I didn’t mean to trouble you._

He can feel the fondness emanating from her as she responds. _It’s never any trouble, Professor_. The truth of her words is clear to see, the earnestness surprising Charles as it does each and every time he encounters it. _I do need to go now, though. We’ll talk later?_

 _Of course_ , Charles agrees, smiling. _I look forward to it._

There is a slight pressure on his mind, like the fond squeeze of a hand, and then Jean pulls away, her thoughts turning to her next class.

Charles lingers for a moment and then slowly pulls his own mind away. 

How simple it is, he marvels. And how rare in its simplicity. To be able to care for someone and to have that affection returned with none of the resentments or fears or expectations buried deep underneath.

Is it because Jean is a fellow telepath? More than likely. But, he knows, their connection isn’t borne simply from telepathy. It stems instead from something much deeper. Something much more human.

Charles has worn many different mantles over the years: son, brother, teacher, friend, lover. They have all fit him with varying degrees of comfort, some hanging awkwardly on him and others fraying as time passes on. 

None of them, however, seem to fit quite so well as the mantle of fatherhood.

Perhaps, he thinks to himself as he lays down to sleep that night, perhaps that’s where his true calling lies. Not as a teacher or a brother or a mutant leader, though they too stem from the same place. Maybe fatherhood was what he was made for all along.

The thought is somehow not as frightening as he might have once imagined; instead, it is a comforting one. 

He sinks into that feeling and closes his eyes, allowing the blooming sense of love and warmth to rise up around him and pass through the halls of the mansion, settling the dreams of school’s inhabitants like a gentle caress across their brows.

And, from two floors above, a returning wave of warmth descends upon him, unasked.

 _Goodnight, Professor_ , the soft voice whispers.

Charles smiles. _Goodnight, Jean_ , he replies, and then falls asleep, peaceful.


End file.
